xXThat Ghostly Smile a Mail Jeevas fanficXx
by Dukki-chan
Summary: a tale of unrequited love between Matt and one of the girls at Wammy house. Sorry fangirls, this is not a yaoi.
1. Matches & Meetings

**Prolouge**

I never thought I would fall in love. Ever. Especially not with _him._ Matt. Or, rather, Mail Jeevas, as he is truly called.

It was something so spontaneous. So unlikely, that I still to this day can not wholly believe.

I had seen him around the institution all my life. How could I not? We had both grown up there. Both seen each other every single day of our lives. But we had never talked. Never. Not once, did I, or he, think to give the other something as simple as a hello. Never. But it never occurred to me to mind. Never did I long to learn more about that goggle-wearing red head with a habit of smoking. At least, I _told_ myself I didn't want to know. I lied to myself. Deceived myself into thinking I could care less. Why do this? You may be wondering to yourself. Well, simply enough, I figured, I assumed, he wanted nothing to do with me.

And so, to protect myself, I shied away from him.

We've all heard of karma. Heard of how it someday will come back to get us. To make sure we pay our dues for the things we've done. Well this is the story of my own karma, and how brutally it repaid me.

My karma got me back, with love.

There is no greater punishment than that.

**1. Matches & Meetings **

Often I wander throughout the world with my mind on other things. On other places. It is not often that I stop to check that I am indeed heading in the right direction. Rather, I allow myself to drift aimlessly, and hope, _hope, _that I somehow find my way.

But, because this is a story about karma, you probably could have guessed that, this one particular time, I was unable to end up where I should have.

"What do you want?" asked a voice, _his_ voice, over the buzzing and beeping of his video game.

My mouth fell open. My cheeks burned red. I stood like a fish out of water, dumb and helpless, as I realized with shocked awareness that I had stumbled upon the person I most wanted to avoid.

And worse, he had _spoken_ to me.

"I'm-I'm sorry," I managed to say. "I didn't mean to…" I trailed off. Unable to announce the thing I hadn't meant to do: acknowledge him.

He paused his game and looked up at me. His stark red locks fell over his translucent orange goggles in spikes. But I could tell, through the barricade that the goggles themselves presented, that his eyes were curious, as if wondering who in the world this stumbling, vacant girl standing at the doorway to his bedroom could be.

"Don't worry about it," he said smoothly. "You're not bothering me."

I could only stand there. There were no words to describe what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I was simply _there. _

"You're…Arsa, right?" he said at length.

I was surprised, to say the least. How could he, this boy I had known all my life but hadn't had the courage to speak to, possibly know my name? I could only nod. I didn't trust my voice. I feared my vocal cords would betray my delight and excitement.

A small ghost of a grin fell over his lips. He seemed amused with me. Much like a cat is momentarily amused with a ball of string, or a mouse trapped beneath its crushing paws.

Finally, I realized he must have been waiting for me to speak. "And you're Matt?" Thankfully, I was able to state my question without the embarrassment of any squeaks or stutters.

He nodded. "Mhm." He looked me up and down for a long moment. I, too, took a second to fret about my appearance. I knew my hair was unruly and unchecked after a game of soccer out on the lawn. My skirt was wrinkled and dirt smudged. Self conscious as any girl of only thirteen years old, I tried to arrange myself into something more acceptable. "I've seen you before. Playing soccer, I mean," Matt said in a soft voice. "You're very good, actually. I saw you score several times today."

My cheeks only grew redder at his compliments. He'd seen me? He actually knew of my existence before this very moment? It was almost as if I had fallen into a dream. Into one of my most secret of daydreams. I had to remind my lungs how to go about in the act of breathing.

"T-Thank you," I said. "But it wasn't really that big of a deal." I shrugged. "Ernie is a really rotten goalie…"

"It's still better than I could do," he responded. He ran a gloved hand through his hair. For a moment, before the locks fell back into place over his forehead, I could almost make out what he looked like beneath his obtrusive goggles.

A full minute of awkward silence existed like a shadow, like something alive and suffocating, as our attempt at conversation fell to a lull. I knew deep in my gut that I should excuse myself. I should make up an excuse to leave, lest I give my brain too much to analyze, to go over again, later that night as I would lie in my bed.

Suddenly, as I had hoped, a shout rang through the corridor behind me. I jumped as the noise pierced my ears after the moments of silence.

"Arsa!" someone shouted. The sound of ungainly footfall approached. Then, standing next to me was Alicia, a small girl of only 8 years old. She looked from me to Matt with her large, curious eyes. "Arsa," she said, quieter this time. "We're starting up another game. You comin'?"

I found myself glancing at Matt, but was disappointed to find that he had turned his attention back to his video game. Beeps and electronic bloops were the only noise to emit from his bedroom now. I knew I was being dismissed.

"Uhm yeah…" I answered Alicia. "I'll be there in a sec."

The girl gave a wide, angel's smile and darted off, presumably going to recruit more players for the match.

"Well I'll, uhm, see you later then… " I said quietly in Matt's direction. I took several steps backwards, already preparing myself to dash off, away from this unfortunate fantasy.

As I turned my back, as I shifted the focus of my mind to the match, I heard the softest, sweetest goodbye my ears had ever had the satisfaction to hear uttered. "Good luck…Arsa."

And I was off. Like a bullet from a gun. Like sparks floating away from a larger fire. With each footstep, with each breath, I was forcing myself to forget him. To forget his words. To forget the brief encounter I had just experienced. I couldn't allow myself to linger on them. If I did, my heart, my very being would only become more vulnerable to the deceptions of the world. To love.

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A.N: Hey guys! yay! it's my first ever post of ! *cheers* please, _please _let me know what you thought. Please?


	2. Bug Boy

**2. Bug Boy**

Just as I had predicted, my mind buzzed with nothing else but Matt for the remainder of the day. I went over, again and again, the relaxed way with which he reclined on his bed.

The glances he stole down at his hand held game, making it obvious that he wanted badly to return to that tiny private world of his. But the thing I cherished most was his smile. That subtle, upturn of the lips, those perfect lips, which made me want to smile too, simply to celebrate his own happiness.

It seemed that my friends, namely Alicia, noticed my distraction.

"Why do you look so pleased, Arsa?" she asked, her delicate voice ringing like the most charming of bells. Her breath came in puffs, having just run to catch up with me after the match. "We lost, remember? No one should look that happy after losing like we did." She grabbed my hand and held it tightly, like children often do when it is still acceptable for them to hold hands with another person.

I sighed and looked down at my feet as I walked, as to prevent myself from glancing up at the window that I knew to be _his_, because I badly wanted to see if, maybe, he was looking at me, watching me play soccer like he said he had done before. "I know we lost, Alicia. Is it bad that I'm happy for no reason?"

She shook her head insistently. "No! Not at all. I'm glad you're happy." She threw me a quick, devious smile. "I just wanted to know if _that boy_ might be the reason."

I swallowed like a convict sentenced to execution. "B-Boy?" I asked, as if I hadn't been thinking of nothing but him for the past hour and a half.

Alicia looked at me as if to say _don't think I don't know what's going on just because I'm younger than you are. _"Yeah, boy," she said. "You know, Matt. _That_ boy."

My mouth opened and closed, feigning speech. To say how I felt, that dangerous, incriminating secret I had been harboring for years, would make it real, unavoidable. I couldn't very well tell Alicia about him. There was nothing to tell, really.

"Well?" the girl pried. "Is he who you're thinking about? If you like him, you can tell me. It's ok to have crushes."

I couldn't stand it. Having this girl, who was five years my junior, wrench open my heart-shaped box in which I kept this secret. I yanked my hand from her, viciously, and with more anger than I had ever exhibited towards her. "Just leave me alone. It's none of your business!"

Before I could see her cry, that lower lip quiver and those baby-blue eyes flood with salty tears, I turned on the spot and ran as quickly as I could away from her, Alicia, my only real friend in all of Wammy House.

How could he have done something like this to me? Something as despicable as infatuation, let alone love. Did he know what things I felt? But didn't feel, all at the same time.

My legs pumped against the cement ground that led to the institution's main garden, a wild, overflowing natural place teeming with life and color. I had spent many sunny afternoons there, in that garden, sitting beneath the ancient oak and laughing without a care. At least, without a care that I let show.

Now I collapsed beneath that very oak tree. I fell to my knees and curled in on myself, like a pill bug, those little masters of secrecy that were able to hide themselves away from the world whenever need be. Oh how I wished to turn into a bug in that very moment. To grow feelers and an exoskeleton, bulging eyes and dull wits. Then I could crawl easily, slip between the bark of trees and tuck myself away from the world and its crushing blows.

"Arsa?"

I jolted up with recognition. That voice. It couldn't have been my imagination, or the wind, as parents tell their children when ghosts tap against their windows. No, this voice was real. And right beside me.

"What wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked, his goggles flashing as they caught the dying sunlight. He himself looked, for a moment, like the very bug I had wished to transform into.

I realized I had been crying and wiped my cheeks. "No. I'm not hurt." I didn't dare say I was fine. That would be a lie. The cruelest lie I could tell at that very moment.

Matt took a drag on the cigarette, already half gone, that balanced between his lips. I could smell the tobacco, a sweet, comforting aroma, about his person. "Good," he said. "When I saw you laying out here by yourself, crying like you were…I thought…I thought maybe one of the kids had beat you up or something."

I shook my head and tried to smile. My efforts turned into a sickening grimace. "No it's nothing like that." In truth, no one at Wammy House had ever hit me, except out of play.

"Then what is it?" he asked, taking in more smoke from the cigarette. The tip of it glowed bright, neon orange that rivaled the color of the sun.

"It's just that…Well you see…" I struggled to come up with an acceptable, believable white lie that would save me from telling him the real reason for my despair. Eventually, my words ceased and I instead looked down at my hands as they rested in my lap. I couldn't think of anything to say, and a small, irrational part of me was sure he would read my mind and discover what I truly wanted to say.

Softly, after several moments, he said, "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. I know it might be weird since we don't know each other."

My eyes, still red and sore from crying, stared anywhere but _him._ He had actually offered to be a crying shoulder, and I couldn't take advantage of it. Even more, he had actually acknowledged the fact that we didn't know each other. Did that mean he hadn't known who I was after all those years of living within the same walls? Could it be possible that he had been totally unaware of my presence before that very morning?

He sighed. The forlorn sound caused me to look up at him, anxious to see if he was becoming annoyed with me. "Do you hate me, I wonder?" he said in the softest of tones, his head tilted to the side as he examined me, his brow knit together as he frowned. "That's it, isn't it? You hate me or something, right?"

Here was my chance. My chance to cut off all contact with him and save myself any future sorrow. All I had to say was _Yes, I do hate you _and everything, for the most part, would be fine. I could remain unscathed by the fiery tentacles of love. But, deep down I knew, that no matter the circumstances, I could never tell Matt that I hated him.

"Why would I hate you?" I asked, not exactly answering his question, but at least I wasn't denying it…yet.

His lips quivered into something that resembled a grin, almost like he was pleased that I had responded at all.

"You never talk to me," he said. His hand came up and he pulled off his goggles, leaving them on his forehead, his hair splitting in tiny red arrows over the orange lenses. For the first time in years, I was seeing Matt without his goggles, without his mask. I was seeing how he really looked, and the realization came as a pleasant surprise. "I've seen you around before, lots of times, actually, but you've never talked to me. I assumed that the only explanation was that you despised me for some reason." He spoke with the air of someone saying their thoughts out loud, more to himself than to me.

"I never knew you noticed…" I said. My fingers played incessantly with the hem of my skirt, winding and pulling at the fabric until it resembled nothing more than a weaving together of cotton fibers, rather than an article of clothing.

Matt gave a bitter half-chuckle, and flicked his finished, and now unlit, cigarette off into some unseen patch of grass, at the same time pulling out a fresh one from the pack in his pocket, as well as a sleek black lighter. "I would have to be a douche bag not to notice you. We _are_ living in the same place, ya know."

So he had noticed my existence. I was certain my head would explode if only I could tell him, share with him, what his words meant to me.

Just in the knowing that I wasn't some nameless, faceless being in his life had left me faltering, breaking down with hidden happiness in the most pitiful, pathetic of ways. What would happen if he actually revealed deeper, greater feelings for me? That was why I couldn't allow myself to love him, even _admire_ him. I didn't deserve, couldn't _handle_ to be loved by him…by anyone.

When I returned my gaze to meet his, I was smiling; I would allow myself that display of emotion, at least. And he smiled too. We were like two people sharing some private joke, which was, I suppose, pretty close to the real truth.

For what else is love, even unrequited love, but a joke between two people?


	3. The Garden of Misfit Toys

**3. The Garden of Misfit Toys**

In the end, Matt and I didn't say much after that. We simply reclined beneath the oak tree and watched the dying sun as it disappeared behind the horizon. Vaguely, I wondered to myself why he had been out there in the first place, rather than being up in his room with his video games, as per usual.

Just as I had convinced myself to voice this question aloud, it was answered for me.

There came the hum of voices from the other end of the garden, they pierced quiet that Matt and I had become accustomed to in a most unwelcome way. I could make out two pairs of feet tramping through the cool grass.

"Now, Mello, where _exactly_ did you hide it?" asked one voice, a soft musing voice, one belonging to the prodigy of Wammy House, L.

A crack echoed around the garden, and I recognized the sound to be the snapping of a chocolate bar as it entered the owner's mouth. That could only be Mello, the boisterous blonde who enjoyed sweets, the chocolate kind, at least, and was rarely seen without a slab of the sugary confection. "I _told_ you! I don't remember!" Mello huffed.

As the other two carried on their conversation, Matt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had remembered something that he was supposed to be doing. After offering me an almost apologetic smile, he pulled his goggles back down over his eyes. He stood, wiping the blades of grass from the backs of his thighs, and I stood too, unconsciously letting him know I didn't want him to leave.

"Matt is that you?" L called through the dark.

"Yeah," Matt answered back. "Don't worry guys, I found it a while ago. I was just chatting."

It was then that the newcomers came into view. L looked the same as he always did, although who was I to judge? I rarely saw him. Mello, on the other hand, was in another of his complicated and presumably expensive outfits: a black silk quilt stitched vest and form fitting black jeans, black leather boots, and several chains glittered on his chest, illuminated by the lights coming from the institution's main building.

"Chatting…" L repeated. His eyes flicked to me, and I instantly felt as if I were being examined, like a bug under a microscope. "Who is your friend?" he asked, still gazing at me.

Matt glanced at me as well, grinning slightly, as if to tell me not to be disturbed by L's penetrating stare. It was easier said than done. "This is Arsa," he said, turning back to L and Mello.

Mello gave an exasperated sigh. "Matt, do you think you could introduce your little girlfriend _later_? If you haven't noticed, idiot, it's getting late. And _I_, for one, don't want to miss dinner on _her_ account." He glared over at me, causing me to duck behind Matt slightly, blushing at being called his _girlfriend_, as if such a thing were possible.

L was quick to chastise Mello, and the two spoke in quick, sharp whispers for a moment. In the silence, I avoided looking at Matt, afraid to see how he had reacted to Mello's statement. But he, on the other hand, was quite calm.

"You can go, if you want," he said quietly to me. "There'll be nothing but arguments from here on in." As he spoke, he reached inside the inner pocket of his vest and pulled out a shiny plastic action figure with an ugly face. "It's Near's," he explained, seeing the confused look on my face. "Mello got mad at him and chucked it out his bedroom window earlier."

I almost giggled at Mello's immaturity. I glanced over at Mello then, and upon seeing that he still appeared furious, said to Matt, "Yeah, maybe I'll get going…Well, er, bye!"

Before I could dash off, Matt stopped me. "Wait, are you playing soccer again tomorrow?" He appeared suddenly nervous, as if he had something he wanted to say but didn't at the same time.

I nodded. "Yeah, we play every day." Where was he going with this? I wondered to myself.

"Well…uhm…maybe I could come play with you?" he finally said. A faint blush appeared on his cheeks and I could tell he thought I would say no.

"Of course you can!" I said with sudden excitement, a feeling that I couldn't, despite my efforts, bring myself to suppress this time. I felt my cheeks stretching as I smiled without meaning to.

Matt smiled too. "Cool. See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

As I ran off, unable to walk, such was my happiness, I could hear Mello's taunting voice drift over the grounds. "Aw Mattie, why didn't you give her a kiss goodnight?" His snide comment was followed by a hefty thump, which led me to believe Matt had hit him.

Before I knew it, I found myself back in the dorm building. I was too anxious for the next day to come that I didn't even bother with dinner. I went straight to the room that Alicia and I shared and fell into my bed, still smiling as my head filled with unstoppable fantasies of the day to come.

I was finding it hard, harder than ever, to push down my feelings for Matt, to lock them away and pretend they never existed. Maybe I was changing, maybe he was changing me. Maybe I was growing up, becoming confident.

Maybe all it took, to become a better version of myself, was love.

Or maybe I'm insane.


End file.
